Ladies’ Days

Two weeks ago, I went to Staffordshire to attend L Fest, a.k.a the lesbian mud festival . Here is my favourite picture:

It’s Heidi, my South London gardener friend, doing an impression of being an Orgasmic Meditation follower. She is stroking the “upper left hand quadrant” of her clitoris in an arty way thanks to a conch present from another gardener friend.

And here are the chicks who were hired to greet the people arriving at “Ladies’ Day” at Goodwood race course in Chichester yesterday. I was invited by Mission PR and I accepted because sometimes you need to keep it real and sometimes you need to keep it unreal.

Goodwood bills Ladies’ Day as, “the most glamorous day of the meeting…truly the place to see and be seen.” But judging from their posture, it seems that these ladies could do with one of Betty Dodson’s masturbation master classes. Don’t hide your light under your bushel, sisters. Uncup your hands and spread your legs a little – especially as you’re wearing those great kinky boots.

Here are some other compare-and contrast shots. Guess which Ladies’ Day each one comes from:

And:

And these:

Contrasted with:

It all goes to show, there are many different types of Lady in the world. Who do you think is having the most fun here?

Or

My highlight of L Fest was a random snog in the loos at about 3 in the morning. By a woman who then proceeded to ignore me for the rest of the weekend. Very lesbian. L-Fest is good for sisterhood but I’m not sure how much shagging goes on. Everyone kept saying, “Oh, how we laughed!” But by day three, the laughter seemed to get more extreme, paroxysms of the stuff. I thought, “by this point these women should be having orgasms not manic laughter.”

The highlight of Goodwood Lady’s day was my friend Charlie Griffiths, the gossip columnist from the Mail on Sunday, (her in the stand in the white hat ) giving me the lowdown on Justin Bieber’s talking-dirty technique. It involves saying he’s going to squirt cream on your face and then do dirty stuff to you. Betty Dodson would love this story on what she calls her “fantasy Rolodex.” Charlie also told me how, she was once at a party when Prince Harry got locked in a deep freeze.

But there are other exciting things that happen on the hoi polloi side of the fence. Such as this friend (below) who was told by these two female police women from the Staffordshire constabulary to put her top back on. Even though it was a private lesbian festival, the police women said to her, “What if children were to see you?” I know. They definitely need some Betty Dodson help.

Back on the ritzy side of town, I got to meet Frankie Dettori in the Richmond Box, the most exclusive room at Goodwood.

I enjoyed talking to Frankie about his choice of aftershave (“Gucci by Gucci, I think”). Maybe I was getting too interested in the keeping-it-unreal vibe. There might have been photo opportunities of police women arresting women with their tits out at Goodwood, but I’d sold out by this point thanks to the free champagne and salmon sandwiches.

The best bit of the day at Goodwood was the 3.45 filly (ie all-female) race when the winner was California who I had put a bet on, naturally, because of her name. I’m working on getting an O or an artists’ visa at the moment so I can go and live in California and I see the win (£60) as a good sign. All I need now is to drum up $5K to pay for the lawyer. An old friend of mine at Harper’s Bazaar put me in touch with an LA attorney who tells me he’s got porn directors and gogo boys O visas before. I just need to prove I’m at the pinnacle of my career and an expert in what I do. American being the land of equality and freedom, he tells me that positing myself as Europe’s expert in masturbation is just the same as those other artists who go for O visas because they are Europe’s best violinists or best interior decorators. Fingers crossed.